


Fort

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom cuddles Harry, then sleeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fort

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

A part of Tom—the sick, stupid side he doesn’t like to entertain much—wishes Harry were hurt. Just a little bit. Just a small bruise on his cheek, or a split lip, anything tiny enough to not really _hurt_ him, but enough to land him in sickbay. Tom’s been stuck there all night, or at least, that’s what it feels like, and as much as he’s happy to help out the injured, he’s dead tired and he’s even more bored. The doctor is as poor company as usual, worse when he starts singing. 

Tom’s left to spend an hour on Ensign Wildman’s plasma burn—a nasty, winding thing all down her leg—and he could really use one of Harry’s smiles to brighten his day. Night. He wants to chat about their last Captain Proton adventure and go over what they’ll do next time. He’s thinking of a break, maybe, just a short one in between bouts of their favourite holonovel, maybe to Hawaii or Risa. Something sunny and sweet and lazy with floral scents in the air and soft sands to sleep on, and they could curl up next to each other on the beach, then go running to the waves. 

He’s almost nodded off when the doctor finally tells him, “Well, look at the time. Looks like you’re excused, Mr. Paris. Unless you’d like to pull an all-nighter, of course.” The doctor’s wild smile is clearly meant to poke fun at him; he doubts his company would be any more enjoyed the other way around. They’re a rather mismatched pair; they just don’t quite _mesh_ like starship teams should do, _like he and Harry do._ Like the captain and Chakotay. Like Seven and Tuvok. Like Neelix and everyone but Tuvok. ...But mostly like he and Harry.

Abandoning the samples they’d been running an analysis on after finally getting Wildman out, Tom heads straight through the doors. He was tired just a moment ago, but he finds himself picking up pace easily—he practically bolts for his quarters. It takes him too long to get there. Eventually, the doors are opening, and he’s through them, and the darkness in his quarters is a shock to his senses, but he adjusts and knows his way. By the time the doors close behind him, he’s kicked off his shoes. He’s fumbling with the rest of his uniform on the way to the bedroom, not about to bother with pajamas. The familiar blue glow above his headboard makes it easier to pick out the way. He tosses his jacket to the side and fumbles with his shirt, then pushes down his pants and steps out of them. He leaves his boxers on—he’s too tired to mess around, even though he’s got a delicious treat waiting for him. Tom lifts the blanket carefully, placing a knee on the mattress. 

He wriggles onto his side of the bed, trying to disrupt Harry as little as possible. A sudden groan lets him know he’s failed. Harry’s outline is faint but beautiful, and Tom watches Harry’s eyes flutter half open, dark hair tumbled across his forehead and the pillow. He sees Tom and he sighs, then yawns, eyes closing again. Tom mutters a soft, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to awake you.” And he shuffles next to Harry, head finding room on the same pillow. Harry’s in a tank and probably boxers. As Tom rearranges his body next to Harry’s, he finds he’s right. Harry yawns again and snuggles closer, shaking his head. 

“S’fine.” Sleep adds a cute lilt to his words. Harry pulls a hand out of the blankets to rub at his eye, and then he leans forward to peck Tom on the nose, and Tom, never able to resist, leans in to steal another one, this time on the mouth. Harry keeps his lips closed and pushes away, one hand on Tom’s chest and grinning wide. “You didn’t brush your teeth.” His nose is scrunched up.

“You can tell?” Only Harry would. Or maybe Tom’s just lazy. “Is it that bad?” Just to be an ass, Tom lunges forward to catch another, and Harry’s reflexes are too dulled to dodge it. Tom kisses his cheek and the side of his lips and the middle of them while Harry tries to wriggle away. Tom nips at Harry’s bottom lip, seeking entrance, and Harry laughs and shoves him back properly.

“Tom, stop it; we’ve both got work tomorrow—”

“Is that all you ever think about?” Tom presses his face against the side of Harry’s and nuzzles into Harry’s cheek, nipping at Harry’s jaw, intoxicated with the smell of his lover after a hard day’s work, and even though he means to stay innocent, he reaches around Harry’s waist, pulling Harry up against him. He makes his way back to Harry’s mouth.

Harry breathes, “ _Tom_ ,” and it breaks into half a moan. He can be adorable one moment and sexy as hell the next, always handsome and pretty. Tom, caught up in his own enjoyment of his boyfriend’s perfect body, rolls himself on top of Harry. He supports his own weight and doesn’t grind their crotches together like he normally would—they don’t have the time or energy for it, and this isn’t sexual: just affectionate. Harry’s too cute not to share late night cuddles with. Tom takes a moment just to press their warm bodies together, sighing happily against the side of Harry’s face. “Tom,” Harry warns, and Tom grumbles. 

But he listens, and he lets Harry shove him off. Harry stays on his back long enough to tell Tom firmly, almost a scolding, “I love you, too. Now go to sleep.” 

Tom resists the urge to say, ‘yes, mother.’ He waits for Harry to roll back over, facing the other way. 

He’s not that surprised when Harry reaches back to take Tom’s hand, placing it over his side. Tom grins but doesn’t say anything. He just takes the invitation to curl up along Harry’s back, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder and pressing his legs back against Harry’s and spooning from head to toe. It makes him too warm beneath the blankets, but he’s not willing to move. He pecks Harry’s cheek again, what he can reach, and he murmurs a quiet, “Good night, Harry.”

“G’night, Tom.” Another yawn, and Tom knows Harry’s eyes are closed. Probably drifting right back to sleep. 

Tom holds him close, content and ready to follow.


End file.
